The fight is not over
by Amaranthe Athenais
Summary: Marian marries Guy, and Robin is heartbroken and devastated. Guy rejoices in his triumph over Robin, but he feels that the fight with Robin is not over. This is an angst story.


**The fight is not over**

The sunset hour in Sherwood Forest was still and lonely, blazing in gold, red, and green. The young sandy-haired man, who glided on under the great tall trees, seemed to have blended with the colors, as if becoming a part of the wild woodland. This man was Robin Hood, in his old life Sir Robin Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntington and the Lord of Locksley.

Robin walked slowly through the forest, where he spent the gladsome minutes of his childhood and boyhood as he held his bow in hand and, together with Lady Marian of Knighton and Much, strolled at will and pleasure, listening to the gentle murmur of the trees and the sweet singing of the birds. Before he left for the Holy land, Robin had been was the happiest man in the world, suffering neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry and wild games and adventures in the woods, as well as constant practice with a bow and a sword.

Robin stopped for a moment, hesitating whether he should have come to his favorite place in the woods which he was slowly growing to hate. Every instinct in him screamed to turn away, to flee and never look back there, but the voice in the back of his head told him a different story. He looked at the setting sun in the sky burning with the flames that writhed and twisted, like his heart was twisted in pain, and he knew suddenly that whatever he would feel as he reached his destination would be as painful and menacing as the fire-shadows playing across the sky.

He crossed the clearing and stopped under the meadow. He looked around, his pale blue eyes dead and empty, without a trace of mischievous glow. Dressed in a green satin tunic and flat pants of the same color, his slender figure blended into the green surroundings. His face was ghostly pale, and a gorgeous mane of sandy-colored hair looked bright gold in the last glow of the setting sun. The outlaws waited for him in the camp, but he didn't want to meet them today.

Robin stretched out his arms towards the meadow, as if he were embracing it. "_Goodbye forever, my love_," he murmured. "_Our first kiss was here, under this meadow. And we separated our paths here so long ago, but here we also found happiness after we reconciled_." He blinked back tears. "_But today here we part our ways again, this time forever_."

The red evening flame vanished from the summits of the trees, and the woods were almost in shadows. The late summer forest was beautiful, but the unchanged serenity of forestland didn't bother Robin Hood. The wind seemed to pick up, gusting through the trees and moaning the grave music of Marian's name in Robin's ears, and there was a feeling of rain in the air.

Robin sat down on the grass under the meadow; his arms hung limp by his sides, his hands resting on his lap. His body felt depleted, yet his mind burned feverishly with images of the most tragic day in his life. His relationship with Marian was over, and God help him survive his heartbreak. For better or worse, Robin lost Marian, and she was now Guy of Gisborne's new wife.

He stared into the emptiness, his eyes wide, luminously blue with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. The thought that Marian had married the high traitor, who had tried to kill King Richard and who had almost killed him, filled his entire being with revulsion and dread. The vision of Marian and Guy standing together, their hands entwined, erupted in flashes of fading light as pain engulfed him. All that saved him from collapsing in the aftermath of Marian's betrayal was the knowledge that England and King Richard needed him.

Mustering the strength to look around, Robin swept his gaze over the clearing, focusing his eyes on the meadow. His face was sad and vulnerable, so human and so natural, for he wasn't guarding his emotions at that instance. His expression was the personification of morbid pain, for he was the man thrilled for death and would marvel its touch to stop his suffering.

A sudden flaring of the afterglow of sunset filled the landscape with lights and shadows, yellow, orange, blue, and black, like the radiance of the darkening sky. Robin gazed round, feeling that every tree and every shadow were burning themselves with aching clarity of the moments he spent with Marian in this place. His eyes tried to pierce the black shadows falling on the ground from the tall trees.

He was indifferent to everything. His heart was bleeding, his soul was devastated, his dreams and hopes were ruined. The lump that formed in his throat prevented him from talking and breathing, and he held his breath for a long, long time until the lack of oxygen in his lungs almost suffocated him. His eyes stung, making the sunset suddenly waver behind the glaze of tears, and he turned his back to the fading afterglow. Unable to suppress bitter thoughts, Robin lowered his chin to his chest and gave free reign to his feelings; tears, salty and burning, slid down his cheeks.

He tried to breathe in deeply, but the air could barely squeeze through the constriction of his throat; the effort only made it ache more than before. At that moment, Robin hated Sherwood and England; he hated his life, King Richard, his friends, and even God; he hated himself, his convictions and his choices. And yet, he knew that he would have never acted differently even if he had been granted another chance to change his life. He clenched his fists, and his nails bit into his palms. Numbness overcame him, and he feared to move, to speak, and even to blink.

"For the love of Heaven, Marian, tell me why did you betray me? Did you want to hurt me by marrying him like I hurt you when I left for the war?" Robin asked his imaginary companion, the pain rising up to overwhelm him. "Don't you see what you did to me? You killed me. You killed a part of my heart."

Utter stillness of the forest greeted him, and Robin squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing his pain and heartache. There was so much pain in him that even if he decided to unburden his heart and soul of all the hurt and the tragic memories, he would have never felt any relief washing over him – at least not now and not in the nearest future. He was too frightened and too confused, the pain seeming to stem from his very core and spreading through his body in waves.

Despite the dark night at hand and a rain-storm brewing, Robin decided not to head for the outlaws camp on that night. He was so lost in his thoughts that he lost track of time, and soon the darkness set in. He raised his eyes to Heaven, and then studied the clouds driving across the sky. He felt the cool dampness of a fine, misty rain on his face; drops of rain were mingled with his own tears. He knew that it would rain during the whole night, but he didn't care to hide and go to his gang.

Robin was utterly alone. His life was ruined. His heart was bleeding like a large open wound. And yet, he felt that his life was not over, as if someone whispered words of consolation into his ear in a voice full of tenderness, snapping him out of his haze of sickness, fear, and pain.

He rose to his feet and turned his gaze at the meadow where so many events happened in his young life. He ran his eyes across the clearing, having difficulty to believe that he was alone in this place, but it was reality and he had already accepted that. Shadows lurked under the trees and the silence seemed consistent with Robin's emotional state.

His eyes stinging with bittersweet tears, he fixed his gaze on his sheathed scimitar; it was the scimitar that had belonged to the first Saracen whom he had killed in the Holy Land, and he kept the weapon in commemoration of his first killing in a bloody battle. Death at his own hand suddenly became a blissful oblivion his heart was seeking so desperately.

He unsheathed his sword, looking at that blade and thinking how many people had died at the murderous penetration of Damask steel into human flesh. He went still, completely still, his neck at a painful angle as he stared at the blade for what seemed to be an eternity. He wanted to finish everything with one strike.

Robin felt as if he were dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice. He knew that any wrong move would cause his fall into abysmal darkness, through leaves and smoke and flame, flying like a bird killed with an arrow and falling to the earth, and then into the flames beneath.

Tipping his scimitar skyward, Robin released his grip on its hilt and let it fall to the ground. He made up his mind – he would not allow death curl its fingers in a brutal grip around his heart. He loathed himself for a moment of weakness when he allowed himself to have a mere thought of taking his own life. It was not his nature to give up and surrender.

_If Marian betrayed him and their love, then Robin would live for England, King Richard, the people, and his friends. He was betrayed by the only woman he had ever loved, but he wasn't alone in the world – his friends and many other people loved and needed him._ Robin Hood was a man of a kind heart and a magnanimous soul. He was a fighter for justice, for what he believed in, though he knew that his dreams of absolute justice and peace everywhere would always be illusions.

Robin wasn't an utter fool, and he understood that his mission to save England was doomed to failure from the beginning – he could save only some innocent people and the King, as well as give the people hope for the brighter and better future. Such thoughts were painful for Robin, but they began to nest in his heart in the past months of his struggle with Sheriff Vaisey and Guy of Gisborne. But he had never told anyone of his grievous musings, for it would mean the death of Robin Hood and his cause.

"I will survive. My life is not over. King Richard and England need me," Robin whispered, feeling the shock of what had just wanted to do to himself slash through him. "I will let her go. I will forget her."

Robin stayed on the clearing on that night. Although it was already dark, it was necessary for him to keep his eyes fast shut to prevent them from seeing almost continuously the vivid flashes of lightning born in his mind by the memories of the past.

He lay on his back under the meadow, his eyes closed tightly. The darkness and stillness cloaked him in transcendental, unearthly, deep slumber. He couldn't help but dream about the clouds of dust, the crimson sand, the clang of swords, the clamor of battles, and the smell of blood and death that had been a part of his life for so long, since he reached eighteen.

Although physically Robin was in the forest, his mind transported him many hundreds of miles away, to Acre, back to the time of the fateful Saracen attack when he was grievously wounded by the masked Saracen – Guy of Gisborne, his sworn enemy since his early childhood. He stiffened, his facial muscles tightened, his tired mind reproduced the image of the young Captain of the King's Private Guard, dressed in a white Crusader tunic and a silver chainmail.

In his dream, he could again see himself in a crouched position on the sand, shooting arrows with deadly accuracy at the Saracen assassins. He managed to kill four of them before the moment of his demise came. Then he could feel a hand of an assassin – Guy's hand – on his right shoulder, and next instance the sharp, violent pain in his left side slashed through him as the cold edge of the blade deeply sliced his flesh through his ribs, not piercing his heart only by miracle.

Even though he lay upon the green grass, Robin felt as if the ground were the yellow-and-crimson sand, cold in the desert night. He winced as he saw himself on the sand and felt hot, thick blood slipping slowly out of his body. He could almost hear Much's anguished cries as his friend rushed to him and knelt down to inspect Robin's injury. He whirled in pain as if he were still tormented by agonies of wild pain in his side and dizziness drilling through his temples.

The visions of the past changed and now Robin dreamt of the tall, muscular Saracen – Guy – standing above the King's sleeping figure, with a sword in his arm, ready to strike a fatal downward blow. He dreamt of fighting with Guy, lunging at him and parrying his blows, then swinging his sword in a deadly arc and making a deep cut on his enemy's forearm. The vision of a black wolf's head on Guy's forearm was an easily recognizable picture, appalling and almost nauseous.

Robin awoke from his nightmare with a loud scream. He always awoke at the time when he sliced Guy's forearm and caught a glimpse of a highly stylized tattoo – a black wolf's head tattoo. He dragged a deep, excruciating breath, then brushed away strands of his wet hair from his forehead.

He traced his fingers along his left side, where a long, puckered scar, a deep and ugly thing, was struck by Guy's blade more than two years ago. He closed his eyes against the remembered pain and the fear of the night of the Saracen attack. As he opened them again, he wished that he had died on that night; in that case God would have spared him many troubles and much pain.

Robin looked at the sky. The rain ceased more than an hour before, and a thick crescent moon hung in the sky. He prohibited himself to think of death. It was not his time to die. King Richard and England and the people needed him. He had a mission to fulfill, and he wouldn't fail.

§§§

At the Locksley Manor, Sir Guy Fitzcorbet of Gisborne lay on a wide mahogany bed hung with heavy green-and-lavender curtains, a multitude of striped cushions spread across soft white sheets lined with sable. On his wedding night, he was alone in his bed as Marian slept in another room after she had asked him to wait with the consummation of their marriage.

Guy tossed and turned in his bed, muttering something unclear in Norman-French under his breath, as if he were feverish and incoherent. He was plagued by nightmares since his boyhood – since the tragic day of the fire at the Gisborne Manor, when Roger of Gisborne, Ghislane of Gisborne, and Malcolm of Locksley died together in the red fames that destroyed his life. He had long resolved to stop fighting with his horrible dreams, for his mind ceased looking for a means of escape a long time ago.

Tonight Guy's dreams started from the halo of the burning Gisborne Manor, the orange flames licking every crack and cranny of the building. He dreamed of Bailiff Longthorn and of the crowd of infuriated people who set the fire at the façade of the manor, blocking all the opportunities for the trapped people to flee. His heart thundered an uneven beat as the Bailiff's voice commanding to burn everything to ashes resonated in his mind; he could hear the Bailiff's accusation of murdering his own parents and the final verdict to banish Guy and his sister Isabella from Locksley.

Soon Guy was gripped by the dream of the Saracen attack on the King's camp in the Holy Land. He often had the same nightmare since the fateful night when he attempted regicide on King Richard's life, but at the very last moment he was stopped by Robin. In his dreams, Guy clearly saw himself running through the sandy dunes in the direction of the Crusader camp, the Saracen assassins following him.

Every muscle of his body trembled as his mind reproduced the moment when he accidentally caught a glimpse of a lithe archer in a distance and recognized that he was Robin of Locksley – his childhood nemesis. He could see himself heading to the place where Robin sat on the sand, shooting arrows at the assassins, killing them one by one.

He moved on his bed, stretching his long legs across soft sheets. He could feel his blood boiling with anger, his heart seized with unlimited bloodlust. Guy stiffened as he watched himself moving towards his target from the back, putting a hand on Robin's shoulder, and then plunging his sword into Robin's left side. Next moment, Guy heard Robin's cry of pain and saw his enemy dropping dead on the sand.

The slow stream of the images of the Saracen attack played out in his mind. Guy envisioned himself running to the King's tent and standing over the King's sleeping form. But for whatever reason he paused and didn't launch an assault on the sleeping monarch, hesitating whether he should have killed King Richard, his heart hammering harder in excitement mingled with doubt and fear. He recalled Sheriff Vaisey's words that hesitation at a crucial moment because of misplaced sensibilities and conflicting emotions could have caused failure of a sacred mission.

And yet, Guy continued standing above the King, the darkness and the light fighting in his heart and soul. Whatever shred of little honor he still possessed made him loath to cross the line and kill the King. But he had no choice, for he needed the King's death to gain power and wealth. His life and future depended on the success of his mission in Acre, and he steeled himself against any emotions of pity for the King who didn't deserve that.

A loud, desperate voice calling for King Richard pierced Guy's deep dreams, and then the tantalizing picture of Robin running into the King's tent, his sword flashing silver in the darkness, stood before his eyes. Guy groaned in his sleep at the memory of his feelings at that moment – bewilderment, amazement, fear, and dread. He didn't expect Robin to stay alive after he had stabbed him, and he feared that he had to fight with the King's legendary Captain for a chance to flee and possibly even for his own life. And yet, oddly enough he felt released from ceaseless, importuning doubt; he was relieved that he didn't kill Richard.

Guy gave a howl of pain and fear, his body shaking, his eyelids twitching. In his dreams, he was transfixed with horror at the touch of cold steel slashing his sleeve. He could almost feel the sudden, fierce pain shooting through his flesh as Robin's sword sliced his forearm. He suppressed a shiver, clenching his fingers into the folds of black silk night robe that clung to his body.

He groaned and awoke in cold sweat, shaking with fear and rage. He glanced around, feeling a cold shiver progressing up his back. He slept in the master bedroom which was once occupied by Malcolm of Locksley. That thought sent a wave of nausea into his belly, and he swallowed hard. Since Guy moved in Locksley, he didn't feel that he was at his own home, for the memories of Robin were in every room and corner of the manor.

Guy fixed his eyes upon the glowing, golden flames of the candles that stood on the bedside table near his bed. His glossy raven hair shone lustrous in the candlelight. Taking in a gasping breath, he held very still, trying to relax, but after feeling dread of that magnitude it was difficult to make his mind obey. His breath rasped harsh in his throat, his heart skipped a beat, and he shook his head, blinking the sweat from his eyes.

"Will I ever forget the Saracen attack?" Guy growled softly. He struggled with this nightmare as if he struggled to get from beneath the deadly blade, but he always failed, and the dream continued haunting him. "Why do I feel that I did a wrong thing that I went to Acre?"

He clenched his jaw, wishing to forget his failure in the Holy Land. He concentrated instead on the recent events, feeling that he had taken everything from Robin and had taken his revenge on Robin, revenge for the years of living in poverty in Normandy, for insults and humiliation he swallowed since the day he had been hired by Vaisey as his squire, and for all the misery that filled his life since the day of the fire. At first, he felt a flare of satisfaction at the thought of what happed tonight, and he smiled with dark pleasure, thinking of the pain he caused Robin Hood.

Yet, behind the delightful facade there was an increasing sense of anxiety and great worry, which were ripping through his gut as he considered all that could go wrong. If he was honest with himself, he feared that he didn't win the final battle with Robin, including the fight for Marian's heart, and he doubted that he would make Marian surrender and would defeat Robin.

Guy cursed under his breath, exhaling in a sigh of frustration and nervousness. He felt fear shredding his heart with every tumultuous beat. He felt as if he had climbed at the peak of the mountain, and now he feared to tumble into the dark abyss, where he would be burnt to ashes like a moth in the flames of the fire.

His hand automatically touched the place on his right forearm, where Robin's sword injured him on the night of the Saracen raid. When he came back from Acre, Guy's black wolf's head tattoo was still there and there was a scar atop of it. But on the feast to celebrate the King's birthday Robin Hood ripped open his sleeve and revealed his tattoo; later Vaisey burnt it off with the special acid. Guy never forgot the day when Robin almost killed him in the woods and they fought in a hand-to-hand combat like two possessed men; later the Sheriff only added him more pain.

"Well done! I took everything from Robin Hood. I avenged the disgrace and plight of the Gisborne family," Guy told himself, his mouth twisting in a poisonously sweet smile. "Marian married me, and now she is my wife. She is only mine – she will never be Hood's again."

Guy of Gisborne looked at the undraped window. The rain had apparently ceased, and only a few thin clouds appeared moving swiftly over the wide, dark expanse of the sky. Yet, the wind continued rising and the moan of the forest increased to a roar. There was the inky darkness outside, for the moon disappeared behind the clouds, perhaps only to reappear blooming in some other spot, somewhere in some distant parts of the forest.

Guy smiled with grim satisfaction at the thought that Robin was suffering on Marian's wedding night. He believed that Robin was going mad in one of the hiding places in the cold forest, weeping for his lost love and the chance to marry his childhood sweetheart, who chose him, Guy, over the heroic and great Robin Hood. It didn't matter that Marian slept in her own room on that night as Robin didn't know about that.

All of a sudden, impotent fury swept through Guy with the swiftness of a winter squall. He had to beat back the memories of agony, pain, darkness, and misery. He swallowed heavily, again haunted by the sensation that the events of this day didn't make him happy and didn't bring him relief either. Marian plastered a fake smile on her beautiful face, but he knew that she offered that smile only as a feeble attempt at the kind of expression a contented wife might wear.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, he shuddered, and his shoulders hunched forward protectively. He told himself that he shouldn't have been indulging in such thoughts, such yearnings and doubts, but his gut feeling told him that the battle was very far from over.

Guy knew that what he had experienced with Marian during the past years was wonderful and more special than anything he had ever known the darkness he had lived in since he had met Vaisey, and yet a part of him ached with the knowledge that what they shared was only for a time and no more. He feared that it couldn't last, not with their vastly different histories, not with the shadow of the great Robin Hood between them.

He shook his head and cursed. The image of Robin's face on the day of the fire at the Gisborne Manor filled his mind. He could still remember Robin's vulnerable and frightened face, his enemy's gaze full of pain and fear, his little voice asking question about his father's fate, every word echoing with that husky, persistent entreaty and sheer horror, which somehow captured Guy's attention on the day of the fire. He wondered why he remembered Robin's scared face so often, as if fate were mercilessly toying with him, refusing to grant him a desirable oblivion.

"God help me to forget and ease my pain," Guy nearly beseeched. His gaze slid to the forearm Robin had once wounded, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest in pain. "Why is Hood always present in my life? Will I be ever free from him?"

He knew that his euphoria and triumph were of temporary nature. Fear lived in his heart. It wasn't the danger he feared. _Clashing swords, physical pain and injuries, mental anguish, and the humiliation from the Sheriff — none of that frightened Guy as much as Robin Hood did, and this fear made him hate Hood with implacable hatred_. He dreaded what would happen if King Richard returned. He tried unsuccessfully to quell the fears that kept assaulting him, but somehow the thought of his conflict with Robin Hood terrified him to the core, the dread wrapping his chest like a band of steel.

"_The battle with Hood is not over_," Guy muttered to himself, clenching his fists, his face stiff with black fury. "_I should kill Hood before King Richard returns, if he returns. One of us must die – Hood will die_."

Guy looked as if he might say something more to himself, but his mouth went dry, his heart sank into his throat. He tilted his head back, his eyes fluttering shut at last under the force of his exhaustion. But just before he again drifted off into his dreams writhing with painful shadows of his past, Guy found himself smiling despite his ill temper and bad foreboding, for he won the fight with Hood today. And yet, he felt that his fate was bounded to Robin's in ways that nobody but God or devil understood.

At the same time, Robin finally reached the outlaws camp. He sat on the trunk near the camp. He leaned back against the tree, his arms folded over his chest, his face revealing more openly than any spoken words how unhappy and angry Robin was with the outcome of the day. The idea of Gisborne living at the Locksley Manor in a position of much authority and much power over the lives of the innocent people made his skin crawl with disgust and his blood boil with rage. And it was worse than he had experienced since his return to Nottingham from the Crusade.

"_Gisborne, the fight is not over_," Robin whispered into the darkness, looking at the dark sky. His hands fell limp to his sides, and he took a deep breath. He pushed back his black, but it was there anyway, always lurking close to the surface and waiting to spread bloody destruction. "_I swear that I will win the final battle. You will pay for high treason. You will pay for your crime_s."

Robin and Guy were dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, where any wrong word, act, and deed might spell immediate, painful retribution. Their battles were like lethal dances of love and hatred, real and imaginary, shadowy and darker than death, immitigable and eternal. Their pain and hatred were a phantom, an illusion, yet more real than reality, and the truth was the only salvation from the world of shadows.

* * *

><p><em>I hope you truly enjoyed this one-shot.<em>

_Robin is emotionally devastated, and he is trying to find something that can help him survive through heartbreak and heartache. Robin was the King's man and England's man, as well as he was the people's hero and the savior of the poor._

_Guy rejoices in his triumph over Robin as he finally married Marian and now he thinks that now he has taken everything from Robin. Yet, he feels that the fierce battle with Robin is not over._

_Everything is only beginning._

**_Reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading this one-shot._**

_Yours faithfully, Amaranthe Athénaïs_


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